


Stranger Things

by shotgunsinlace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, mini!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 01:19:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotgunsinlace/pseuds/shotgunsinlace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has been exposed to a ton of crazy throughout his life, but this just takes the cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranger Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [almaasi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/gifts).



> It's Elm's birthday, so I wrote her a thing. Also un-beta'd, so all mistakes are my own.

From shapeshifters robbing banks while wearing his face, slow dancing aliens, possessed little girls on homicidal rampages, his life story in a book series, alien abductions where he was nearly probed, a soulless brother, to his best friend going on such a power-trip that he self-proclaimed himself a god.

For thirty-plus years, Dean has been exposed to so much crazy shit that it’s reached the point where nothing can surprise him anymore. There’s nothing new to see, nothing shocking enough to leave him perplexed beyond the usage of words.

And then Purgatory had been the icing on the metaphorical cake. Befriending a vampire? Now that went against every grain in the Winchester encyclopedia of the unnatural.

But then the angels fell from the sky in streaks of fire, like flailing comets. One by one they hit the ground, and all the monsters fled without a trace. They’re probably just spooked by the sudden increase of heavenly auras walking the Earth.

But there’s one angel whose loss of grace results in something that leaves Dean torn between laughing and crying.

Back in the bunker, after a very long night filled with plenty of booze, and a half-tank of gasoline spent aimlessly driving around, Dean collapses on his bed, mindful not to sit on Castiel.

Castiel, former angel of the Lord, kickass warrior and walking force of nature, is now the size of Dean’s palm.

That’s a rough approximation.

Sam has been on the case for days now, scouring their library for any way to bring him back to human size as quickly as possible, but nothing is popping up.

Castiel is tiny, and without his trenchcoat, he blends in with the black pillowcase on Dean’s bed. He just sits there, crossed legged and frowning, and not looking at Dean.

Dean figures the guy must be miserable for a long list of things, but none of them are Dean’s fault. And they were only _partly_ Castiel’s fault, so he shouldn’t be beating himself over the head with guilt. But once someone throws in their lot with the Winchesters, guilt and self-loathing becomes a day to day thing.

Slipping out of his jacket and placing it over the back of the chair in a fashion that won’t get it wrinkled, Dean kicks off his shoes and nudges them under his desk. He takes off his over shirt, preferring to lounge in a t-shirt and a pair of boxers because, why not. It’s his bedroom, and he has the right to be comfortable.

Or so he tells himself. Were he sober, he wouldn’t be shedding off his layers in front of Castiel this easily.

“Did you eat?” Because Castiel is human now, despite being travel size.

“Sam was kind enough to bring me soup. He thought I might choke if he brought something bigger than me,” Castiel says, and Dean is right in assuming that the little guy feels miserable.

However, Dean is glad that Castiel’s voice sounds normal. Less gruff, yeah, not as deep, but at least he doesn’t sound like he’s inhaled three helium balloons.

Dean is a little disappointed.

“Smart kid.” He sits on the bed, cautious. “I don’t think any of us know how to CPR a Polly Pocket.” Castiel’s glare is so sharp that were he not de-angelized, Dean was sure there’d be lasers shooting out of his eyes. “I’m serious,” but the way the side of his mouth twitches gives away that he’s not.

When Castiel looks away, shoulders sagging, Dean lets out a steady breath.

Shifting his body on the bed, Dean lies down on his stomach, and pulls the pillow Castiel is sitting on between his elbows. It’s a new version of their patented _Lack of Personal Space_ , and Dean takes satisfaction in Castiel’s shocked gasp.

“Your breath smells like beer,” Castiel says, looking away with a disgusted look. “And you’re too big.” He adds this last bit as if it pained him to admit it.

“Yeah, that’s what she said.”

“Who?”

Dean shakes his head with a chuckle. 

“Stupid question but, how’re you feeling, Cas? Any side effects?”

Castiel is still wrinkling his nose when he squints, and Dean finds it kind of adorable. He leans back on the pillow, and for a moment Dean thinks Castiel is going to lie down, but instead he props himself up on his forearms as if he were some beach model. Dean figures it’s probably just to put enough space between them to talk.

“I feel… normal, within the circumstances. Bored… hungry…” He pauses between words, looking up at Dean with round and vulnerable baby blues. “Homesick.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that; he rarely ever does.

Castiel graces him with a barely-there smile. “You and Sam are alive. At least not all is lost.”

The bare honesty and relief in Castiel’s words warm Dean’s alcohol saturated belly, so he does the mature act of shoving Castiel onto his back with a finger. He immediately pulls his hand away, afraid that Castiel might bite him in a fit of powerless rage. But all he says is “That was uncalled for.”

Dean snorts. “We’re gonna kick Metatron’s ass,” he says, sobering up. “Once we get you back to normal, we’re gonna get your grace back, and we’re gonna open up Heaven for you and your family.”

It goes against everything he and Sam have been fighting for, and Dean isn’t even sure why he’s so adamant to go through with it. Closing the gates of Hell, sure, that ended up bad. Closing Heaven—Dean isn’t convinced that it’s possible. They’ve all been swindled since the start, so who the hell knows what’s true and what’s not.

Right now, all Dean wants is for Castiel to stop frowning. Rich, considering all he ever did as an angel was frown and glare, but this is different. Dean doesn't want to give Castiel the cold shoulder anymore, despite how many times he vanished without a word. Dean is the better man here, and he’ll prove it to him.

“We took on Lucifer and Michael. One little cowardly cockroach is nothing we can’t handle,” Dean says, tensing his jaw in determination. “But you gotta stick with us, Cas. No more Houdini stunts.”

Castiel is still looking away when he nods. “I doubt I could if I wanted to.”

Anger makes Dean’s fingers twitch. “Didn’t you hear anything I just said? It has nothing to do with the ability to poof away; it’s about you wanting to, man.” Clutching the side of the pillow, Dean shakes his head. “You need to stay. For all our sakes.”

“I’m nothing but a burden, Dean. Powerless, hapless—that’s all I’ll be.”

“You shut your mouth,” Dean snaps, holding a finger just inches away from Castiel’s face. He hopes he comes off as menacing. “You’re not useless. I don’t want you because of your power.”

A subtle silence follows the confession, and the weight of Dean’s words finally settles in. It’s his turn to look away in embarrassment.

“‘Want’ is a heavy word,” Castiel says, staring at Dean intently.

“Sure beats saying _‘need’_.” The alcohol is doing nothing but lowering Dean’s inhibitions the more he speaks. “As in, I need to shut up.”

The strangeness of the situation becomes even stranger when Castiel’s tiny hands touch Dean’s cheek in what he imagines is an attempt to comfort. They tickle the scruff along his face, and Dean has to hold back a hoarse laugh.

Okay, Castiel is less the size of a Polly Pocket, and more like a Ken doll.

Dean bites down the urge to play dress-up.

He does, however, bring his hand around to rest against Castiel’s back, thumb and forefinger pressed to either side of Castiel’s waist. “This is kinda creepy,” he hears himself say, but his fingers are already dragging the worn cotton of Castiel’s suit.

Castiel squirms in his hold, cheeks turning pink. “Dean, I don’t think this is—” Castiel’s voice hitches when Dean’s thumb trails along his front. “O— _Oh_.”

Dean pulls his hand away shortly after, grinning down at Castiel like a cat. “Yeah, definitely creepy.”

“Inappropriate,” Castiel corrects, resettling himself on the pillow. This time, he lies back completely with his hands over his stomach, as if he was settling down for a therapy session.

“One of the perks of being human,” Dean purrs. 

Unable to help himself, he brings his hand up once again, and rubs along Castiel’s clothed stomach.

He needs to stop, pull back and walk away before the situation gets any freakier than it already is. But the way Castiel moves, so freely, with his head tipped back and arching into the touch—well, it’s hard to take a step back.

Dean’s thumb nudges the lapels of Castiel’s jacket to the side, and teasingly touches along the waistband of his pants; cotton and polyester soft to the touch.

Either it’s the control, the power, or some sort of repressed desire from his younger days, but Dean can feel his cock swell in his pants. The way Castiel pants, hips canting upward as Dean carefully touches along his body, is bizarrely arousing.

“God, I’m so fucked up,” Dean says, nothing but a murmur. He grinds into the mattress, biting his bottom lip at the pressure.

Castiel shakes his head. “Don’t say such things.” And as to ease Dean’s guilt, he clumsily undoes his belt and fly. “Please, don’t.”

Dean’s mouth twitches again, because a tiny Castiel is currently stripping on a pillow right underneath him, but a wave of unbidden lust twists in his gut at the sight of Castiel’s cock.

Maybe it isn’t the size difference after all, or some kind of fucked up fetish.

This is just Castiel, wanton and debauched under Dean for him to have. This is just Dean, blissfully teasing the man he’s learned to care for over the past several years. This is Heaven, Hell, Earth and Purgatory finally breaching for the two of them to take what they need. The circumstances may be unusual, but it’s still them, exposed and raw.

He looks at Castiel, eyebrows raised in question. “You really want to go through with this?”

Castiel doesn’t answer. He’s too busy grasping at himself, hands moving desperate and clumsy to get himself off.

Dean watches with a lazy grin, his hips grinding into the bed at a leisurely pace. But when the mattress stops giving him friction, the memory foam sinking and setting after a matter of minutes, he quickly grabs the available pillow and shoves it underneath him. He stops touching Castiel long enough to snag the band of his boxers beneath his balls.

For one short moment, Dean spends his time rubbing his wet cock against the pillow, hand over his stomach as he humps without restraint. The feather-soft cotton makes him moan with delight.

On the pillow, fully-dressed but legs spread, Castiel jacks off to the sight of Dean.

Dean’s pace speeds up, breath hitching with every sharp thrust, but it isn’t enough. He wants pressure, he wants tightness and heat, and so he lies back down, cock trapped between the pillow and the now slick flesh of his stomach.

Castiel has got a good rhythm going, despite the awkward hold he’s got.

“Hands above your head,” Dean says, voice soft beside Castiel’s ear. “I wanna try something.”

A thrill runs down Dean’s spine, making him shiver, when Castiel obeys.

Dean isn’t sure if it’s cute or obscenely hot, but his humping stutters when Castiel’s tiny body stretches along the dark pillow. “Will you touch me?” Castiel asks, eyes at half-mast and lips open around low and drawn out mewls of pleasure.

Dean nods, and before he can think better of it, he moves in.

Forgetting about hands and fingers, Dean hardens his tongue, and softly drags its tip along Castiel’s cock.

Castiel spasms, body thrashing when Dean repeats the motion once, twice, three times more.

He wants to take Castiel into his mouth, suck the meaty shaft until his mouth is so full he chokes—but for now, this will have to do. Small, measured laps; his tongue swiping the minute length.

Castiel cries out, hands scrambling for purchase before he seizes up, body rigid and mouth hanging open around a silent shout. 

Dean tastes what’s going on before he sees it; the saltiness of Castiel’s come clinging to his tongue.

With a triumphant grin, Dean pulls away, feeling proud of the tiny mess spread over his pillow. Disheveled hair, come-stained pants, rumpled shirt, it’s the cutest fucking thing Dean has ever seen, and he mildly wonders if this means that there’s something wrong with him.

“You okay there?”

Castiel nods, still trying to catch his breath. “Y-Yes, I… hm. I really… truly enjoyed that.”

“Same here,” Dean says. He leans down to press a kiss to Castiel’s tummy, nuzzling the fabric with a satisfied hum. “If you never grow to your normal size, let it be known that I’m fully okay with this.”

Instead of pulling his hair, as Dean expected, Castiel touches his cheek and leans up, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of Dean’s nose.

“I’d rather have you at full size, Dean.”

Dean hums again, this time with pleasure. “So you can stuff me to the brim? Make me yell myself hoarse as you pull my hair and I come in my fucking pants?” He has no idea where the sudden filthiness in his words comes from, but he figures it’s due to the raging hard-on still pressed to the pillow.

“Maybe,” Castiel says, sitting up to press his lips to the Dean’s bottom one. It’s a tiny little kiss that makes Dean’s body trmble with happiness. “I’d also like to lick you.”

Hips bucking involuntarily, Dean groans. “I’d really like that, Cas.” And then he thinks about it. “But I don’t think you need to be full-grown to give that a try.”

Castiel honest to God chuckles, falling back onto his pillow with a pleased sigh. “Would you like to give it a try now?”

Nuzzling Castiel’s side, Dean laughs. “All right, little guy. You’re on.”

**Author's Note:**

> Because I'm an awesome friend, I valiantly stepped out of my comfort zone and wrote Elms a fic that deals with mini!Cas for her b-day. Why? Because she deserves it, and because I awkwardly found myself intrigued with the whole normal!Dean toying with mini!Cas. I won't ask for you not to judge me, because I already judged myself.


End file.
